


Business and Pleasure

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Doctor and River Song, mixing business and pleasure is a way of life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business and Pleasure

He danced slowly, his arms around her hips, her head resting against his shoulder, her soft hair caressing his face.

They were virtually the last ones in the ballroom, and he felt himself floating on a cloud of contentment. For once his body had lost its clumsiness and was simply swaying to the music. River’s warm weight settled comfortably against his front. He could feel her humming softly to herself as she shifted and followed along with his movements.

Her hands had snuck up under the back of his coat, sitting warm and possessive against the small of his back. He turned his head to rub his nose against her tickly curls, breathing in the soft herbal scent of her shampoo and the fresh, rainwashed scent of River herself.

Loud voices raised from the one occupied table still in the ballroom. It sounded like an altercation. He shifted so they could look without having to raise their heads.

A large purple tentacle lashed out from under the ballgown of the woman sitting at the table, her fresh-faced human skin suddenly turning shiny and plasticky looking as the skinsuit split down the middle.

More tentacles burst out, reaching for the horrified man across the table. A diplomat, from the red sash and epaulettes he was wearing.

River dipped and stood, never missing a step of their shuffling dance, and shot the Mendakin right in the torso. The cephalopod went limp, the gripping purple suckers falling away from the Eridian ambassador, leaving a rather lurid red hickey mark on the side of the man’s face.

Yells and thumping boots heralded the arrival of his secret security guards, and River tucked away her gun with another smooth dip. Her cheek never leaving the Doctor’s chest.

They spun slowly, River’s ballgown swinging out in a bell, the Doctor’s coat tail swishing. The guards multiply cuffed the cephalopod and dragged the limp, pale, lavender creature away, its skinsuit still flapping open at the seams.

The Ambassador was giving a harried and nervous report, with much drama and waving of hands.

“Maybe next time he’ll be careful who he accepts a date from,” River murmured sleepily against the Doctor’s chest.

“You’d think a man with a bounty on his head would know better,” the Doctor muttered in an equally distracted tone, his nose playing with the loops of her curls.

She giggled softly. He steered them out onto the moonlit balcony. Turning, swishing, the music fading as they stepped out into the night.

—

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